A New Take on Write What You Know (Part 2) by Lisa Malice

Note: This post is the second of a two-part blog post reflecting on what I learned in a creative writing class many years ago as a new writer. (See July 8, 2023, for part 1).

New writers are often encouraged to heed Mark Twain’s famous advice—"write what you know”—and craft their stories based on a favored literature category or some special knowledge or interest. But it's my belief that truly great writers put so much more of themselves into their work than their familiarity with a genre or topic. They connect on a deeper level with their readers sharing their personal visions, experiences, thoughts, desires, fears and other emotions. It is a truth I realized after reflecting on the writing assignments for an online creative writing class I took years ago.

Our third lesson introduced my class to the “bubble method” as a way to brainstorm story ideas and elements, then challenged us to see the stories all around us—in print, on the screen, from the people we meet, and the music and conversations we overhear. An inspired Dear Abby fan created a charming, humorous, but conflicted advice columnist fed up with her own work and reaching out for help from her readers. A news story on an island of wild horses inspired a classmate to write a heart-thumping story about a U.S. Park Service Ranger protecting the herd from threats, both man-made and natural.

For me, I was drawn to a Match.com article detailing the keys to dating success. Spurred to tackle the assignment by my own research experience as a graduate psychology student, the bubbles popped up all over my page. The result was the first chapter of a rom-com novel starring a young doctoral candidate working on her final thesis, “The Six Rules for Getting a Second Date.” Using her friends and other college students as research subjects, the mold was set for love and laughter. I posted the first few paragraphs of my story and a synopsis of the full novel. But even with that bit of writing, my instructor and classmates could see the energy in my characters, their story, the setting and the plot. I left them wanting more, the greatest compliment a writer can get.

The fourth assignment directed us to pull a seemingly unimportant item from a junk drawer and, no matter how trivial it seemed at the time, show how it defined us in some way. One classmate reminisced about her beloved grandmother from a piece of costume jewelry. A set of car keys prompted another to recount how she convinced her father to buy her a car for her Sweet 16 birthday (she got an Edsel!). The essays revealed a whole range of intensely personal emotions and experiences – joyful and sad, dramatic and humorous, lonely and loving.

I posted my piece, a personally painful one about the necklace my sister bequeathed to me after her death—a simple, gold chain with a small, bold cross that held a few of her ashes. I put my inner most feelings and thoughts about my relationship with my sister into the essay—the good and the bad—words I had never said to anyone in the six years that had passed since her death. My essay drew comments like “powerful,” “emotionally majestic,” and “uplifting.” For the first time, I saw how intimately my words could connect with my readers if I was on the page with them.

Our last assignment directed us to write about a person who had impacted our lives—for better or worse—an assignment requiring me and my classmates to put ourselves—faults and all—into our work. Though I had never met my classmates in person, I got to know them well from who they wrote about and how they told the story. The people they shared with me, the familiar and not-so-familiar alike, connected with me where it counts—in my heart.

Although my own work for this lesson was a work of fiction, it was at the same time very personal to me, as the issues of Life and Death had been on my mind after the loss of both my mother and father the previous year. I chose to write about a young man whose life was cut all too short saving a stranger from drowning, an idea from a real obituary I had clipped the previous week without any specific use in mind. In my tale, the young man comes to terms with his own death only after examining the values he was taught by his father, a firefighter who died a hero in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

The impact my story had on those who read it was deeply gratifying. Some reported crying as they read of the pain, confusion, and grief my character felt, all emotions I struggled with after the unexpected deaths of my parents. Comments were effusive, like the one calling me a “true wordsmith.” Would I have written this piece before experiencing the pain of my parents’ deaths? Probably not, at least not so effectively.

The psychologist in me analyzes everything, and when this class was over I took the time to reflect on what I learned. One big picture revelation came to me. Whether it’s fiction or nonfiction, when we put ourselves out there on the written page with our characters (real or imagined), something wonderful happens—a story that brings both laughter and tears, challenge and triumph, new perspective from others, as well as within ourselves.

More importantly, when we put ourselves into our work, we offer a real, personal connection with our readers, whether it is an essay on our favorite hobby, a how-to article on woodworking, or a work of complete fantasy. When our readers see our characters (or ourselves, as in nonfiction) jump out at the page as real, when they can see and feel the emotions, when they can laugh and cry with our words, when they can see hope from a story, essay, or article, then we have done well in putting our readers inside our minds and hearts. It leaves behind a real personal connection between writer and reader. When all is said and done, I think that this connection is what writing is all about—and that is why write what you know will continue to be the best advice for all writers.

What advice do you like to give new writers taking their first baby steps of their writing journey?